


Birthday Presents (Sam, Age 16)

by rei_c



Series: Cannibalism Aside (Samn) [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Absent John, Affection, Anal Plug, Birthday Presents, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Cannibalism, Codependent Winchesters, Come Eating, I'm Sorry, Kidnapping, Knives, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Murder, Serial Killers, Sibling Incest, Torture, Twisted, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets Sam the perfect toy for his Sweet Sixteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Presents (Sam, Age 16)

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of gruesome, so. Fair warning.

_So, Sam_ , Dean murmurs, burying his face in Sam's hair as they both catch their breath. _Since you got me such a great present this year, I figure I gotta get you something even better. 'Sides, you only turn sixteen once._

 _Don't need a present_ , Sam says. Dean waits, knows Sam's going to cave, because Sam needs to know everything, and he can't stop from smiling when Sam huffs, says, _Okay, fine. What did you get me_?

Dean's smile only grows. He wouldn't tease about presents -- not when there are a million and one other ways they tease each other, constantly, unceasingly -- and Sam knows Dean so far down to marrow that he gets that. Sam knows Dean well enough to assume that Dean's already gone shopping since Dean brought it up -- and Dean has. _S'in the cellar_ , Dean says. 

Sam looks over his shoulder at Dean, gives Dean a wide smile, and says, _Aw, you got me something to play with_? At Dean's nod, Sam clenches around Dean's cock, gone soft in his ass, says, _I dunno if I wanna go see now or if I want you to fuck me again._

_It's your birthday_ , Dean says, _so you decide_. 

_Toy_ , Sam says, after a moment's deliberation. _But I think you should put the plug in before I get dressed. Wanna take you with me, every way I can._

Dean's dick makes a valiant effort but they've fucked half the day away already and if he tries to get it up again, he might die. He was right, all those years ago: Sam's insatiable, can't ever get enough. That suits Dean just fine. He can't get enough of Sam, never has been able to. 

He rolls over, sliding out of Sam, but he fills Sam's hole with three fingers while he rummages in the box under the bed for the big plug, the one that keeps Sam on edge every second it's in him. Sam hums in lazy contentment, hips rutting just a little against the sheets as Dean's fingers don't exactly stay still. Sam's not trying to come, not chasing anything approaching an orgasm, but he's fucked out and loved up, sated and content, enjoying the feeling. If he was a cat, he'd be purring.

Dean finds the plug, makes sure it's still clean, and then takes his fingers out of Sam's ass, teasing at the rim on the way, pushing the leaking come back inside Sam's hole before he works the plug inside. Sam makes little noises, bitten-back moans that are barely more than exhalations, as Dean fucks Sam with the plug -- just a teensy bit because, come on, who wouldn't with Sam's ass in the air, come trails down his thighs? -- before making sure it's in him to the flared base. 

_Good_? Dean asks, as he presses Sam back down to the sheets, rubs his hands on Sam's lower back. 

_Not as good as you_ , Sam says, _but yeah, good enough until you get back in me._

Dean snickers against Sam's skin, murmurs, _Such a slut_ , and then bends down, licks the dried and drying come off of Sam. 

Sam laughs, shifts so his head is pillowed on his arms, and he spreads his legs wider for Dean. _Can't say something like that when you're doing something like this_.

 _Well, fuck, Sammy_ , Dean says between licks and nibbles, _never said you were the only one_. 

Sam rolls over, careful not to bump Dean with any of his limbs, all wild and painful from the growing Sam's been doing this past year, and makes grabby hands at his brother. _C'mere_ , he says with an exaggerated pout. Dean gives Sam's dick a couple swipes of his tongue, feels the way Sam's hips jerk at the touch, and then trails his teeth up Sam's chest, hard enough to leave a white line of pressure in their wake. _Tease_ , Sam grumps, but there's no anger or hesitation in the way he opens his mouth for Dean, takes in Dean's tongue with a happy sigh like there's nowhere else he'd rather be. 

They kiss, long languid minutes of lazy Frenching, tongues in each other's mouths, teeth on each other's lips, sharing spit and breath the way they share everything else, down to the soul. Dean could happily stay here all day, it wouldn't be the first time they've spent a birthday in bed, but he's proud of what he's found and he can't wait to see what Sam does with it. 

_C'mon_ , he finally says, rolling off Sam and sitting up, stretching before he stands and stretches again, joints popping now that he's vertical. Sam's not making any pretence about checking Dean out, eyes skittering all over Dean, slight smile showing up at the marks on Dean's skin. Dean makes a show of pulling on some jeans -- doesn't bother with underwear to save time for later -- and throws on a t-shirt as well before getting some clothes for Sam and handing them over. 

Sam whines, says, _Do we really need clothes_?

 _To get to the cellar, yes_ , Dean says, and then adds, _Come on, little brother. We'll stop in the kitchen for a couple beers on the way._

That doesn't seem like it adds anything to the offer, not with the way Sam rolls his eyes, but he gets up, puts on the clothes Dean gave him with a quick efficiency of movement, nothing wasted, even with -- or maybe because of -- the plug in his ass. Dean eyes the shirt, the way it's stretching out over Sam's shoulders and hanging at his waist, eyes the jeans as well, thinks they're probably a little too short and if they aren't now, they will be soon. 

_Should'a got you clothes_ , Dean says. _We'll need to go pick some stuff up for you pretty soon._

 _I'll just wear your stuff_ , Sam answers, and he presses a kiss to Dean's cheek before passing him by, leaving the bedroom and heading for the kitchen. 

\--

The cellar used to be a shelter -- storm or bomb, Dean's not sure -- but the people who lived here first eventually turned it into storage. Judging by the shelves going around the room, they were into canning, maybe, but Dean won't deny the shelves have come in handy. The whole cellar has, even though it's a good fifty feet from the back door nearly into the woods. He hates wearing clothes just as much as Sam; it seems stupid to live so close to the neighbours that they can't even chance fifty feet naked. Dean's bitched about that before but the quiet old retired couple on one side and the harried family on the other are a fair tradeoff for the cellar. 

Dean pulls one of the doors open, lets Sam go down the steps first, and he's locking the doors back up, above them, when he hears Sam's short, sharp inhalation. Dean grins, follows Sam down, and wraps his arms around Sam, rests his chin on Sam's shoulder while he still can. _Pretty_ , he murmurs, right into Sam's ear, _ain't he_.

Sam's not moving, barely breathing, and Dean starts to get worried until Sam says, _Yeah. Fuck, Dean_.

 _Only the best for my baby boy_ , Dean says. 

He knows what Sam likes, knows how Sam likes to play with his toys, so Dean set everything up perfectly last night, hoped and prayed everything would stay in place since he knew he wouldn't be able to come out and check on things this morning. 

There's a chair in the middle of the room, bolted to the floor, wrought iron and fucking uncomfortable to sit on, but useful 'cause there's no cushion to cover the design of interweaving iron waves, more empty space than support. Tied to the chair, hands on the armrests, ankles behind the front legs, is a young-ish, pale, dark-haired boy with dark eyes. His eyes are open, begging as tears leak from them, and he'd be loud, Dean knows, if he wasn't gagged. Fine lines to his body, not much hair on his legs, and he's lean enough for the slight curve of muscles to immediately draw the eye. His wrists and ankles have been rubbed raw against the hemp rope Dean used and he has a wicked shiner around one eye, but he's otherwise untouched. 

Sam turns, kisses Dean with something approaching desperation. 

_Take it you like it_? Dean asks, trying to rein Sam in, calm his brother down. Sam's mouth is a riot of tastes: beer and sugar and come and something indefinably Sam; it's tough for Dean to keep himself calm, focused, on task when he just wants to take and take and take. _His name's Josh and he's twenty-three. Not many friends, no family close by, and he likes to hang out at the kind of bars where a body might not be unexpected._

 _Josh_ , Sam echoes, and he looks at Josh again, studies him before his eyes glide to the side, to the table Dean's set up. Sam bites his lower lip, gives Dean one more hard, possessive kiss and then heads for the table, shedding clothes along the way. 

Dean follows, kicking Sam's clothes to the side and throwing his own on top soon enough. Josh's eyes are wide and he's letting out a few broken, pleading moans through the gag, but Sam completely ignores him. Instead, he's grazing his fingers over the scalpels, the knives, the needles, the bone saw, their second set of kitchen utensils, and Dean's eyes are drawn to the sight of it, those thin, elegant fingers sliding over silver and iron, caressing them nearly the same way Sam caresses Dean. 

_You didn't play first_ , Sam says, glancing at Dean over his shoulder. _You wanna_?

 _Nah_ , Dean says. _Your birthday. And I know this is how you like 'em best._

Sam's eyes go soft even as he's picking up one of the scalpels and he touches the bone saw before he stops. _My birthday_ , he says. _So if I wanna put on a show_?

Dean chuckles, says, _Tell me where the front row is_. 

Sam laughs, points at the floor, and says, _No heckling. But you can make requests, if you want_.

 _We'll see_ , Dean says, and grabs a blanket, throws it down on the cement floor before he sits, stretching out. 

Instead of the scalpel or saw, Sam picks up the garlic press and the pair of industrial tweezers, heads to Josh's side and drops to one knee at his feet. He strokes Josh's thighs, says, "This is going to be very unpleasant for you," and gently -- far too gently -- puts the topmost knuckle of Josh's index finger into the garlic press. 

Sam starts to squeeze and Josh makes pained little noises, trying to fight the ropes and drawing more blood, but Dean's waiting for it, is leaning forward, eyes fixed, watching for it and -- there, the popping, cracking noise as the knuckle shatters with the pressure. Josh screams, tries to scream, and he's crying huge, gulping tears that mix with the snot running down his face. There's drool coming out from around the edges of the gag and Sam reaches up, cups Josh's cheek and says, "Don't pass out or we'll have to wake you up. Understand?"

Josh nods, frantic to agree, as if that might help him. Sam smiles, repeats the process on every other knuckle. Dean swore he wouldn't get hard again, couldn't get it up even if he wanted, but he's got one hand around his dick, jerking just enough to be as maddening as the sight in front of him. 

Sam uses the tweezers next, pulls out all of Josh's fingernails, then tilts his head, says, "Not very balanced, is it," before he uses the garlic press and tweezers on Josh's feet. Josh has already stopped fighting, is trying just to get through this, and Sam pats his knee, says, "Good boy," before he gets up, goes back to the table, sets down the press and the tweezers. It takes a moment before he decides on the next tool, but he turns back to Josh with the meat tenderiser in his hand, whirling it around like he's a drum major and this is nothing but a baton. 

_Don't wanna get too messy_ , Sam says. "We'll stick to bones. Sound good, Josh?" Josh nods, then groans as the movement pulls at his broken hands and feet with the way Dean's tied him up. 

Dean watches, licks his lips, as Sam walks behind Josh, trailing his fingers up Josh's arm, across his shoulder blades. Sam looks at Dean, meets his eyes, and as Dean's reading the love and gratitude and happiness in his brother's pupils, as Dean's jerking off, Sam lifts the tenderiser and hits Josh's clavicle, twice on the right side, then twice on the left, in quick succession. Josh can't even make noise anymore, just shudders as Sam moves, breaks his elbows, his breastbone, his kneecaps, ankles, wrists. His eyes are glassy with pain and he's given up, doesn't have an inch of fight left in him. 

The pretty ones always go quick. 

Sam kneels down between Josh's spread legs and Dean tenses; they have rules about this, about other people. "Wanna know why you're here, Josh? Why you're going through this?" 

Josh's eyes flick to Dean, who's standing up now, right on Sam's left side, and he nods, nearly passes out from the pain. 

"I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean," Sam says. "Dean got you for me as a birthday present; I turn sixteen today. Not really a big deal when you already have everything you've ever needed right at your side, but Dean likes to make me happy. Isn't that right, Dean." 

Dean runs one hand through Sam's hair, looks right at Josh. "That's right, little brother."

Sam cocks his head, gives Josh a feline smile, and says, "We're going to kill you. You're not getting out of this cellar alive. But you're an awfully nice present, so thank you for that." Sam turns his head, just enough to kiss the tip of Dean's cock, still hard and jutting up and out from his body, then gives Dean a quicksilver grin, gleam in his eyes. _Need another minute to be all growly or can we keep going_? 

Dean bares his teeth, pulls Sam up and pulls him close, hands on Sam's ass, and tongue-fucks Sam's mouth, this isn't mere kissing. He waits until Sam's vicious in his hold, just as wild and out of control as Dean, the two of them scratching each other, drawing blood, leaving bruises everywhere, before he pushes Sam backwards, grins at Sam, Sam's blood covering his teeth. 

Sam grins back, tells Josh, "Sometimes I'm not sure what the bigger sin is: incest or murder," without looking away from Dean. "Honestly, I don't really care. You might, though, so you should think about that while we keep going." His eyes flick to Josh, then, and Dean nearly growls at losing Sam's attention, but he laughs when he hears Sam tell his present, "Keep going with both of those sins." 

_All right_ , Dean says. _Tell me what you want me to do_.

Sam picks up the tenderiser from where he'd dropped it earlier, sets it back on the table, picks up a strand of garotte wire in one hand and the bone saw, an all-purpose chef's knife, and an epi-pen in the other. He hands over the garotte wire to Dean, grins dark and mischievous, and they get to work without needing words. Sam saws the ropes apart and Dean pulls them off Josh, tosses the scraps to one side. When Josh is loose, Dean grabs his arms and Sam his feet as they carry him over to the large tarp waiting to the side. 

By the time Dean drops the kid carelessly, Josh is screaming through the gag. _Oops_? 

Sam laughs and kisses Dean as they trade places so Dean can kneel at Josh's head, wrap the garotte wire around his neck and pull tight, enough to take a little breath but enough give that Josh can still gasp. Sam straddles Josh's hips and shakes his head when he sees Dean leaning over, picking up a wrist and licking at the blood and clear ooze coming from the rope burns. 

_All the blood you want in a sec, okay_? Sam tells him, sounds exasperated but Dean knows better, can read the enjoyment all over Sam's face. _Just hold on_.

 _Easy for you to say_ , Dean mutters, but he lets go of the wrist, lets it fall back to the cement, laughs when Josh arches at the pain and then heaves for breath, wire digging into the soft skin of his throat and starting to leave marks. 

Sam takes the knife, traces out patterns with the point, not deep enough to draw blood but enough to leave marks. Dean reads the patterns upside-down, snorts when he deciphers the sigils but doesn't say anything. He digs the point of the knife into Josh's nail beds, then cuts very shallow lines on Josh's face, the curve of his cheekbones, the arch above his eyebrows, the small indents of laugh lines trailing out from the corners of his mouth. Sam grins, then, and slices the nasal septum with one easy flick of the knife before he cuts off the very tip of Josh's nose.

 _Okay_ , Sam finally says, after he's been studying Josh's face for a few minutes. _Ready_?

 _Born ready_ , Dean replies, and if he tightens his hands in anticipation, no one would be able to tell, all of Dean's focus on Sam, Josh fighting to stay conscious, remembering Sam's earlier threat.

Without hesitation, cuts precise and deep, Sam carves open Josh's chest. Josh passes out but Sam says, _Don't wake him up yet. Wanna try something._

Dean raises an eyebrow; Sam likes plans, doesn't like to deviate the way Dean does, so for Sam to rethink what he's doing? That's intriguing like no other. 

Sam sets the knife down on the floor, leans forward and peels Josh's chest open with his hands. Dean's eyes are fixed on the way blood and tiny slivers of shattered sternum instantly cover Sam's hands, and he's so distracted by the sight that it takes him a second to realise -- holy shit, Sam's not using the bone saw, he's breaking the ribs with his bare fucking hands. Dean lets out a strangled noise as Sam takes one of the pieces and sucks it into his mouth, chomps down on it, holding it in his teeth like an old Midwest farmer might chew on a cornstalk. Sam looks up at Dean through his eyelashes, wicked smile on his face, and breaks off another piece, offers it to Dean. 

Dean opens his mouth without hesitating, mirrors Sam, and Sam puts the piece between Dean's lips, thumb running over Dean's lower lip. 

Sam breaks every one of the ribs, lets his fingers dance across the pleura, watches the heart go into arrhythmia, and for a moment, just for a moment, Dean thinks his little brother's just gonna go for it, rip Josh apart with his teeth. Sam's not like that, though, not like Dean, to lose himself in it. Sam just nods, says, _Wake him up_ and stabs the epi-pen into Josh's thigh without looking behind him. Dean loosens the garotte wire and pushes his fingers into the crushed remnants of Josh's collarbone. 

Josh opens his eyes, eyelids fluttering, and Dean takes off the gag at Sam's nod, as Sam's picking up the knife again. "Almost there," Sam says, and with Josh watching, half-dead and fading fast, Sam cuts out Josh's still-beating heart and holds it in his hands. 

Dean watches his brother, knows how much Sam loves this, the feeling of the heart dying in his palms, the body beneath him giving off its death rattle, and a look of complete contentment washes over Sam's face. Something changes, though, and Dean's instantly alert, focused on Sam, because Sam usually basks in this moment, closes his eyes and imagines -- something, Dean's never asked. 

Now, though, this time, Sam looks at him, the smile on his face something so old and evil that it might even be older than fucking god, and then -- takes a bite of the heart. Dean's breath hitches, he can't make his lungs work, because Sam's chewing and swallowing, eyes fixed on Dean the whole time. When Sam's done, when he lowers the heart, there's blood and traces of muscle all over his chin, around his mouth, dripping to his chest. 

_Sam_ , Dean breathes, and it's a prayer, a plea, the entire centre of Dean's being, that one word, the person it represents. Dean holds out his arms and Sam moves into them without a second thought, tracking blood with him though the heart's been tossed aside, forgotten. 

They fuck right there, on the tarp next to Josh's corpse, blood smearing over every inch of them, and Sam says, _Gonna have to clean the plug before you put it back -- fuck, Dean -- back in me_ , right before he comes apart.

Dean grins, keeps thrusting lazily, hard enough for this but not able to come again, not yet, and says, _Such a one-track mind, little brother. Don't worry, I'll clean the fucking plug._

 _Jus' wanna keep you in me,_ Sam murmurs, half-asleep on the floor in a puddle of congealing blood, right next to the body of the kid he cut open. Dean's never seen anything as gorgeous as this, Sam loose-limbed, content, fucked to sleep. He stills inside of Sam, rubs his thumb back and forth over Sam's lips until they part around a sigh and make room for Dean. _Keep you f'rever._

 _Always_ , Dean says. Dean pulls out of Sam, lays down next to him and wrangles Sam close, one hand over the steady beat of Sam's heart as Sam falls asleep. _Happy birthday_ , he murmurs.


End file.
